by Martha Keyes
“Pleased to see you again, Uncle Sid,” Alfred said without any evidence that he truly felt pleased, “and so soon after your last visit.” He turned into the parlor doorway but stopped at the voice of his uncle.
“I think,” Lord Siddington said, “that I have some news that might be of interest to you, Alfred. Join us in the drawing room, why don’t you?”
Alfred looked as though he had grave doubts about his uncle being able to say anything of interest to him, but he was civil enough not to refuse such an invitation and nodded, following them down the corridor.
A quick-acting servant had clearly been before them to the drawing room, as a silver platter sat on the low table in front of the couches with a glass of brandy and the decanter next to it.
Hugh’s patience began to wear as he watched his uncle inspect the brandy, smell it, and inquire of no one in particular of what origin the bottle was.
Alfred, though, was even more impatient. His mood had been sour ever since his meeting with Miss Bolton’s father.
“Ah,” Lord Siddington said, laying back on the couch with his arm resting on the end and closing his eyes. “Alfred, have you ever had a chance to visit Keldale?”
“No, I haven’t had that pleasure.” Alfred sent a significant look at Hugh as if to commiserate over the oddities of their uncle’s conversation.
“Shame,” said Lord Siddington. He paused, his eyes still closed. “How should you like to live there?”
Hugh attempted to suppress his smile, but without success. He thought he saw the vein in Alfred’s forehead pulsate.
“I don’t think I understand you, Uncle,” Alfred said in a voice struggling to mask his annoyance and frustration.
“Lord Dunhaven has agreed to offer you the living at Keldale parish, as well as the one at Newmarsh.”
Alfred’s face went slack, and he blinked at his uncle, who opened his eyes and rearranged his position on the couch as though he had only asked Alfred his favorite brand of snuff.
“You would obviously employ a curate at Newmarsh,” Lord Siddington said, “for I can tell you the parsonage at Keldale is the larger and better furnished of the two, besides being much closer to civilization. But between the livings, I think you and your amour might live comfortably.”
Alfred stuttered. “I-I...but how...?”
“Do you think,” Hugh said, unable to wait any longer, “that Miss Bolton’s father will reconsider, knowing you have secured such a position?”
Alfred’s jaw hung loose as he continued blinking, uncomprehending. “I think there may be a decent chance of it, yes.” He turned toward Lord Siddington. “Why should Lord Dunhaven do such a thing for me? Or why should you, for that matter? You aren’t even fond of me.”
“Dash it, boy,” Lord Siddington said, frowning, “what has fondness to say to any of it? We are family, are we not? Besides, it seems I am making a tradition out of gifting my nephews a living after their broken engagements.”
Alfred rose from his seat and walked over to his uncle, putting out his arms in an invitation for an embrace. “Thank you, Uncle Sid,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You can have no notion what this means to me.”
Lord Siddington stared at him with a look of panic as his eyes moved from one outreached arm to the other. He recoiled a bit and said, “Save your embraces for Miss Bolton, I beg you.”
Alfred dropped his arms and bowed. “As you please, Uncle. But please accept my most profound gratitude.”
Lord Siddington waved a dismissive hand and drank from his glass.
Hugh sat back, taking a book from the table next to his chair, content to know that Alfred was rethinking his opinion of their uncle.
“I suppose,” Alfred said, beginning to pace and rub his chin, “that I should write to Alice’s father immediately, asking for another audience.” He paused at the window, looking outside with a wistful expression.
“Be honest, Alfred,” said Hugh with a half-smile. “You are considering throwing propriety out the window and asking that the carriage be brought around this very minute.”
Alfred’s brows snapped together, and his eyes narrowed as he continued peering through the window. “Who in the world…?”
Hugh frowned, closing his book and rising from his chair. “Another visitor? In this weather?”
Lord Siddington had his head back, oblivious to anything but his own comfort.
Hugh came up behind Alfred, squinting as he looked outside where the flurries seemed to have thickened and left a dusting of snow on the ground.
“Is that...?” Alfred said, leaning in closer to the window, and then rearing back a bit with a bemused look. “I believe that is the Caldwell’s chaise.”
Hugh stilled. Alfred was right. Pulling the carriage were the same two horses that had done so for a number of years. He swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the hope that had first jumped to his heart.
It must be Mr. Caldwell, of course—come to see Alfred himself, perhaps, though why he should have sent his engagement gift with Emma if he planned to come all along was anyone’s guess.
The chaise came to a stop, and the postilion hopped down from the chestnut he had been riding, hastening to open the door.
Hugh’s heart thumped as he watched a kid boot and the bottom of a green pelisse appear through the carriage door.
He froze.
Emma stepped carefully down to the ground, holding her bonnet to her head and squinting as her pelisse blew with the wind.
Hugh stifled a groan, torn between an overwhelming impatience and a dread of seeing Emma again. Perhaps he should have left that morning for Grindleham.
The postilion shut the chaise door behind Emma, leaving no room for wondering whether any other members of the Caldwell family had accompanied her. She was alone.
“Did Mama perhaps invite her?” Alfred asked, perplexed.
“I don’t know. I shall go inquire of Mama myself.”
Hugh strode from the room, grateful for a few moments to compose himself before having to face Emma. He rushed up the steps and down the corridor to the small sitting room his mother often spent the early afternoon in. He knocked gently, and it sounded faint compared to the pounding of his heart.
Hearing his mother’s muted invitation to enter, he opened the door.
She was at her small escritoire, turned in her chair to see who had interrupted. She smiled upon seeing Hugh, gesturing for him to come in.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mama,” he said, stopping just past the threshold, “but I was wondering if you were expecting any visitors today?”
Her brows went up and she shook her head. “No, I wasn’t. Is someone here? I thought I heard carriage wheels.”
He chewed the inside of his lip. “Yes, Uncle Sid is here and has been for an hour or so. But Emma Caldwell has just arrived, I believe.” He put his chin up, hoping that he sounded as nonchalant as his words.
His mother said nothing, but he could see the wheels turning in her head, and he could have sworn that he saw a smile tremble at the edge of her lips. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Hmm.” She turned back to her writing, and Hugh stared, mystified by her response. Or lack of it.
“Do you not wish to see her, Mama?”
Her quill scratches continued. “I expect that it is not me she is here to see.”
Receiving no indication that she intended to discuss things further, Hugh bemusedly stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He paused a moment, taking in a deep breath.
Much as he wished he could let things take their course rather than discovering precisely what had brought Emma to Norfield on such a day, his patience would not allow it.
He rushed down the stairs and through the corridor, stopping at the drawing room door as he heard the sound of Emma’s voice coming from within. His heart pounded, and he exhaled. He needed to regain control of himself.
The door opened in front of Hugh, revealing the bac
k of Emma’s head as she closed the door behind her. She looked up just in time to prevent a collision with Hugh.
He couldn’t remember his heart beating so quickly or uncomfortably even in battle.
He bowed. “ Miss Caldwell,” he said.
She smiled at him in that particular way which couldn’t but breed hope in his chest.
Grindleham. Tomorrow he would leave to Grindleham, no matter the weather. Anything but be subjected to that painfully alluring smile, knowing that it would be seen alongside Mr. Douglas for the rest of time.
“I was just coming in search of you,” she said.
The words ought to have flattered him. But there was no hesitation in her manner, a fact which dampened his spirits even further. She seemed to be carrying on since their rift, unafflicted by any of the gloom and despair Hugh had been fighting for days.
“How may I be of service?” Hugh asked, hoping that whatever she required of him wouldn’t necessitate lingering in her presence for any longer than was absolutely necessary. And yet hoping that it would.
“I was wondering,” she said, lowering her eyes in a gesture of sudden shyness, “whether you would be agreeable to the terms I have set out for another truce.”
A truce? Why in heaven’s name would they need another truce?
He inclined his head civilly. “If you think another truce necessary, then I shall of course agree to whatever terms you see fit. I should perhaps inform you, though, that I will be absent from the district for the foreseeable future.”
Her gaze flickered for a moment, and her face fell as she swallowed. “You are returning to your regiment?”
“No. I will be taking over my father’s estate in Grindleham.”
Her eyes widened. “In Derbyshire?”
He nodded, feeling an inkling of relief to see her dismay.
“That is a long way from here.”
He grimaced. It was a very long way. A long way from those gray eyes and from those soft cheeks, still pink from the whipping wind outside.
Her mouth twisted to the side. “The truce will not work at such a distance, I am afraid.”
He frowned. “What are the terms?”
She hesitated a moment, her eyes flicking upward to a place above him and then quickly back down, the corner of her mouth trembling slightly, fighting off a smile.
He followed the direction of her gaze, noticing the bough dangling above them. His gaze moved to her lips, and he forced them back up to her eyes.
“What?” he said, decisively dismissing the memory of the kiss they had shared by the light of the Christmas tree.
She offered no response, only keeping her gaze trained on him with twinkling eyes.
He frowned. “You mean not to tell me?”
Her mouth twisted to the side. “I have grossly overestimated your intellect, Lieutenant Warrilow. I was sure you would guess the terms.”
He looked at her, baffled.
She tipped her head back, looking at the bough. “Will you do me a favor, Lieutenant?”
“What favor is that?” he said, suspicious of the funning humor she was in, unwilling to let himself overthink things.
“I believe there is one last berry on that bough”— she indicated it with her eyes. “It does not belong there.”
He saw the spot of red, set against the verdant backdrop and looked at her with suspicion, plucking it off carefully.
She let out a laugh, the one he felt confident he would never tire of. “Perhaps it would be better to show you the gist of the truce,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes and moving closer. She reached her arms up behind his neck and pulled him down toward her. Their lips barely touched, and he closed his eyes, his heart racing, hardly daring to believe what was happening.
“Do I need to explain more in depth?” she said, and he could feel her lips stretch outward in a smile.
“Perhaps so,” he said, breathless.
“Gladly,” she said, pressing her lips to his.
He needed no more encouragement than that, reaching for one of her hands which he clasped in his, wrapping it behind her and pulling her toward him for a kiss that was somehow even sweeter than the one they had shared a week ago.
She pulled away, and he let out a sigh of contentment or relief—perhaps both.
He stared into her eyes, noting the way her mouth still turned up at the side. His own mouth morphed into a responsive grin, but he shook his head bemusedly. “I don’t understand. What changed?” he said.
“Nothing changed,” she said. “I am simply possessed of the dearest, most selfless sister in the world who wishes for my happiness as much as her own.” She raised a brow at him. “I don’t pretend to understand what could possess you to desire me as a wife, but I am quite content that it be so.”
“That you are so ignorant of your own charm and value is one thing I hope to cure you of. You are loyal and kind and”— he raised up his shoulders, searching for the words.
“Obstinate and misguided?” she offered.
He chuckled and toyed with one of her curls. “I have never met a woman who made me feel even a spark of what I’ve felt for you all these years, Emma. I don’t deserve you or the happiness you bring me.”
And he meant it. He didn’t deserve it.
“That,” she said, “is nonsense. I don’t know how it comes to be that I am essential to your happiness, but I know that you are essential to mine. The past is behind us, whatever it has been, and the future—whatever it holds—we will face together.”
He shut his eyes, breathing in the words. He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes and cradling his hand with hers.
He leaned in for another slow, soft kiss and then pulled away, looking up at the bough above. “We need more berries.”
She threw her head back and laughed that delightful sound he would hear for the rest of his life.
Epilogue
The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled in the corner of the drawing room, and two small children watched nearby, their eyes alight with fascination.
“Not too close, Francine,” said Emma, untangling her arm from her husband’s, standing up, and walking toward the tree.
Two of the lights flickered and went out with a puff of air, and the children giggled as Emma picked up Francine in one arm with an indulgent smile and grasped the hand of her nephew Johnathan with her free hand.
She handed Johnathan off to her brother-in-law George, who set him down firmly between himself and Lucy on the couch.
“Blow it out!” said Francine with a pout. “I want to blow it out!”
“How many candles is that tonight?” Hugh said, stretching his arm out to welcome Emma and Francine back to the couch and taking his squirming daughter in his arms.
“Six,” said Emma, sitting snugly next to him and smoothing out her skirts.
Lieutenant Warrilow held Francine in front of him on his knees, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her in mock anger. “And many more if you were capable of blowing properly.” He blew in Francine’s face, and she squeezed her eyes shut before giggling.
“How is Mrs. Seymour, Hugh?” Emma asked.
He bounced Francine on his knee, smiling at her. “Very well, I believe. She has remarried, you know—a man who acts as butler for the Talbots.”
Emma hadn’t known, but she was relieved to hear it. Mrs. Seymour and her children had been a source of frequent conversation and concern for Hugh over the past few years.
The door opened, and Alfred appeared, holding it open for his wife who had one hand below her round belly and one on her back.
“Alice!” said Emma in surprise.
Hugh hurried to set down Francine, getting up simultaneously with George as they rushed to assist Alice Warrilow to a seat.
“We weren’t expecting you,” said Lucy, letting her son wriggle off her lap, “but how happy we are to see you!”
“Yes,” said Alice between labored breaths as she
was lowered into her seat with the help of all three men. “We had not intended to come, but I told Alfred that I could even bear a bumpy carriage ride so long as it meant spending a few hours away from the parsonage.”
“It is terrible being confined and so restless, isn’t it?” Emma said with a sympathetic smile. “You are very near the end, so take comfort.” Emma paused a moment and looked a question at Hugh, who inclined his head with a half-smile. “And I,” she said on a breath, “am at the beginning all over again.”
Heads whipped around, and an intake of breath was heard from both Alice and Lucy, both of them exclaiming at the news.
“How wonderful,” Lucy said, stooping down to embrace Emma. “I shall pray that this baby has a strong disposition to equal Francine’s.”
Emma feigned offense, but Hugh laughed. “She does take after you, doesn’t she, Emma? Stubborn”— he pushed himself up from the couch, rushing over to Francine who had walked noiselessly to the Christmas tree again, sending a mischievous look over her shoulder —“little lady.”
Alice grimaced and put a hand to her belly.
“Perhaps,” said George, watching her with a frown, “we should fetch the doctor as a precaution.”
Alfred was regarding his wife with a brow knit tightly. He shook his head. “I should not have let you convince me to come, my love,” he said, moving to pull the bell.
Alice raised up a hand and shook her head. “No, no, please. I don’t need a doctor.”
Alfred looked ready to do battle over the issue, and Alice sighed before saying, “I promise I shall tell you if anything changes. The last thing I wish to do is disturb Doctor Brady on Christmas evening.”
Her husband hesitated with his hand on the bell but then dropped it to his side. “As you wish.” He walked over and stooped down to kiss her atop the head.
A sudden scuffle broke out, and all heads turned toward Francine and Johnathan, whose arms were interlocked in a battle for one of the paper flowers adorning the tree.
“Oh dear,” said Emma. She and Lucy both raced over to extricate their children.
“I despise you, Johnny!” said Francine, swiping at him and then making one last grab for the flower.
